


heartache: a retrospective

by Mthaytr



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:25:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mthaytr/pseuds/Mthaytr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years later, beyond the Gate, Edward has never made good on his unspoken promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heartache: a retrospective

**Author's Note:**

> I was bored and sad and thinking about Conqueror of Shamballa, and this is what happened. Quite possibly the only thing I'm gonna post on here with no porn on it, but hey, there you go. Very short, experimental. Originally posted on Tumblr.

a missed opportunity — a simple touch, hand to hand. emotion was something he struggled with, respect even more so. and he found himself with both, staring into the man’s eyes (eye?) there, on that street, light dripping blood-orange over the sunset sky, and he didn’t know what to say. a tap, forceful, flesh to metal, the only sign of his affection — a mystery to be puzzled over, left to torment and attack, a riddle for him to pore over in the cold

and then the second time (two or one? one, this time, yes, but black and caring and this man had hurt, and _he_ had hurt) there had been a folded paper pressed into his hand — a tense moment, poised on the edge of something breaking, and nothing broke then but saying _goodbye_ would have sounded like giving up hope, and edward elric never gave up, so he never said it.

Yet, years later, his brother was still with him — all soft and gentle and brilliant and everything good about this world — and he had never made good on that unspoken promise. he wondered if he had given up, decided to stay, if this world alone would be enough for him till the end of his days —

if he was afraid, maybe,

of how that sharp gaze would look at him when he came back. sadness? disappointment? joy? he didn’t want to be forgotten. he didn’t want to be remembered. he had lost something of himself, and to be looked at in that way, after the stretch of years…

gentle, a candle pulsed in the dark, its warm-dark scent a comfort, drawn in heavily to put an edge on his longing, to take another edge off

a soft seat beside it, the creak of a desk drawer coming open; there, a sheet of paper, folded into a small square — wrinkled, crumpled now, stained by the evidence of time’s passage. life spared nothing, spreading joy and pain and chaos in the very living of it. Nothing escaped its pull, even those things most precious.

He took it, smoothed it out, and — slowly, savoring, as if he did not know every word by heart — began to read.

 _Dear Edward,_ it said, and edward closed his eyes, and pressed his lips together, and kept his heart where it belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> (if you enjoyed it, I'd love to know!)


End file.
